021-023 » the ghosts of fallen leaves

[villagemod]

WHO: Everyone.
WHERE: Eastern/Central/Western Mathias.
WHEN: Days 021-023
WHAT: A cold storm approaches.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary. PM this account to have a warning added!
NOTES: Plotting post over here!

RECOMMENDED ♫ Emily Kinney & Lauren Cohan "The Parting Glass"

DAYS 021-023
THE WORLD TURNS WHITE
“Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow,
For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?”
— John Banister Tabb
The howling wind is what wakes the residents of Mathias each day now as the world turns slowly into a bleak stretch of white. Snow continues to fall in thick curtains of flakes that accumulate on trees and rooftops, swirling sideways in the gusts of wind that bow trees and whistle through any crack they can find. The drifts of snow grow taller against the buildings and the wind makes the already freezing temperatures feel bitterly cold.

By day 022, the far ends of streets begin to resemble the hazardous fog with how little becomes visible as the winds pick up. Buildings can still be discerned as dark shapes but the weather's warning becomes clear — a storm is coming. And by day 023, the storm arrives properly, the wind still screaming through the streets like a winter banshee announcing so many deaths to come. These conditions are far from hospitable and only the truly mad would be foolish enough to venture outside in weather such as this.


THE NEWLY ARRIVED
With an embrace of wintery white, Mathias offers a chilly welcome to its newest residents. They awake along the southern treeline bordering Mathias, near the small makeshift cemetery containing a handful of wooden markers erected without names or signifiers of those buried within. And not far from them is the schoolhouse, where in a snowdrift they will the frozen corpse of a young woman named Rey.

LIGHTS IN THE DARKNESS
“A lantern can give you light only when you light it”
— Munia Khan
When residents wake on the morning of day 021, they will find outside in the snow the abandoned lanterns of those shadowy spectres who have moved so silently through Mathias. Each nestled in a patch of frozen white outside their door, the lanterns are now cold to the touch, the half-burned candle within each one seeming to have been lit so very long ago. Inside the glass encasement is a small rolled piece of paper, upon which is written:

keep it lit
There is nothing more, and the prior owners of these lanterns will not return within these days.

There is one lantern waiting outside the building for each resident wherever they are sleeping — the exception for this is those who may have already claimed a lantern as their own. Removing a lantern from its resting place results in no apparent reaction, nor does lighting or not lighting it. However, whatever residents ultimately choose to do with these lanterns should be reported.

---

CONDITIONS UPDATE

— SNOW continues to fall, resulting over the three days in upwards of a foot of accumulation. The winds blow in gusts over 35 mph.

— VOICES are not openly haunting our residents, though they may still be occasionally encountered in the more heavily decayed buildings where some rooms seem to almost swallow whatever light tries to enter them.

— THE FOG has still receded from the town proper and much of the eastern and northern beach, with the path through the northern forest to the lighthouse still clear on day 021. On day 022, however, as the storm worsens, the fog returns to the paths in the forest, urging residents to stay huddled within the town proper or else.

— DISAPPEARANCES continue to plague the town. While Zed Martin has returned, Rey's corpse will be found in a snowdrift near the Schoolhouse; she disappeared on day 018.

— THE STRANGER is gone.

— THE SPECTRES are gone.

OOC UPDATES

— DISCOVERIES have been collected and collated for your review. Please note that this is OOC information only, put together for the purpose of helping you as players see connections and possibilities for CR and your own character's potential avenues of exploration and investigation. (If we are missing something, please report it so we can add it to the list.)

— AP REWARDS have a new option now — Ideas may be requested if you find yourself stuck. You may now claim up to 2 rewards per log: (1) idea and (1) other reward.

— SANITY may be regained in two ways: self-medication and treatment. In Mathias, this means such coping mechanisms as drinking or drugging oneself into a stupor that allows them to face their fears and issues, or talking to someone about those fears and issues. Since both of these will take some time, best get started. (A form will be added to the Sanity page.)

— REMINDERS — Don't forget about the bulletin board. Please continue reporting your updates to locations, plots, and discoveries. The map of Mathias has been added to the locations page for ease of reference. Make sure your character's sanity level is kept updated. Prospective players are still joining the TDM, so it's recommended to track new top-levels so you don't miss them.

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Raylan Givens | Justified

[tinstar]

Plotting Post found here!

Day 21 - Closed to Helen

[tinstar]

The lighthouse had been fun, if anything here could be called that, providing Raylan with a scant amount of release but as he came back to the current burr in his ass, he felt that progress he'd just gained get eaten up in the rise of old frustrations. The wind was starting to pick up and if he was going to cross the chasm, it would have to be soon. The last thing he needed was getting stranded on the other side, worrying and scaring Doc and Malcolm more than crossing already had. If his makeshift bridge was even there.

Good news was that it was, in fact there, if a bit covered in snow, ropes and all.

Despite how cold his hands were, Raylan got on one knee and dug out the ropes on either side, making sure they'd stayed on the correct side of the chasm before grabbing and rocking the bridge from side to side. It was far too heavy for him to turn on his own without risking it falling in, but dammit, he'd do the best he could for now. The stranger was gone and so too, he assumed the threat. Nevermind the wind.

He was sure he could cross it without issue or falling in. Right?

[notanemptymotto]

"What the hell are you doing?!"

Poor Raylan, more English to pester him.

Helen storms through the snow up to the makeshift bridge. Are people in this town suicidal? She looks down at the ravine, then at the man with the white cowboy hat on. She's got unbecoming bruise on her face, and dressed for chillier weather, but certainly not a snow storm.

Although the house she has located on Jackson Boulevard is rather accommodating for clothes.

Helen steps up to the ropes, gesturing to the bridge. "It's barely able to stand, let alone for you to cross. You can't be serious!"

[tinstar]

Raylan looks up at the sudden outburst, wondering what snowdune expedition she'd popped up out of that he'd missed seeing her on the horizon. Oh well - She's here and clearly is on team 'No Fun or Stones'. He only got up from his knelt stance because 1) he'd finished what he was doing, by and large and 2) his knee was fucking cold

"Reaches across both sides, don't it? Reinforced to the point of being over-engineered and, if I had help, space for two people to hold the ropes to make sure it don't go anywhere. You our new local Army Engineer?" His question came with an incredulous lift of his eyebrows.

What was it with people pissin' on good ideas here? "You rather we start tryin' to back fill it in?"

[notanemptymotto]

"In wind like this? Do you really think it's the wisest decision?" Helen gives him a look a mother might. She gestures to it, with how it sways and moves. "I can tell when something is secure and when it's not. It's rather obvious."

Good ideas could wait until things were far more in their favor. Although, she can tell y the tone the man is set on this for... whatever reason that might be. Stubborn, apparently. Helen crosses her arms and takes another step up to the bridge.

"I'd rather start by trying to understand why you think crossing this makeshift bridge in a snowstorm is a brilliant idea." Her tone was more gentle, but still sharp and pointed. "Is getting to the other side of this ravine truly that important at this moment?"

[tinstar]

There wouldn't have been wind like this if he'd been allowed to go over it when he'd wanted the first time, but that thought was translated into the set of his jaw as he narrowed his eyes at her before looking back to the bridge with a faint suck of his teeth.

"We wait to long, it might not be there anymore all together and the far side gone or worse, just.. different. Somethin is over there." He was sure of it. "There aren't any kind of supplies around, nothing else to over engineer this with - the rope and the weight is what's gonna keep it steady," he explained with a gesture towards it, just as a heaving gust that he was projecting his voice against picked it up and tossed it into the chasm.

"Sonovabitch!," he swore, darting over like he could stop it only to watch it hit and fracture with a terrible sound that reached them despite everything. Raylan's hands found his hips and he stared at the pit and the bridge into it like he could light it all on fire.

Well. That ended the argument either way and with him on the losing end once again. The last few days had NOT been for him, clearly.

[notanemptymotto]

It might not be there all together? True, they would hardly be able to see through the storm. Though, she doubts that is what the rather southern man means by his statements.

"Something might be over there. However, without the proper anchors on this bridge, you will not make it to the other side." She nods once again to how it sways in the wind. "These wind gusts are more than twenty miles per hour. Think about this rational--"

Her hands reached out to help grab him as he darted back over. Helen perked her eyebrows as if to say I told you so, without truly saying it. She dropped her hands rather quickly once she was certain he hadn't had anything come back and hit him.

"I suppose we'll have to return to your adventure once the storm passes." She offered an olive branch.

[tinstar]

To his credit, Raylan didn't jerk or tear his arm away from her touch; it barely registered, but she was trying and that was worth something, even if he couldn't quite appreciate it for what it was in his current state. It was perfectly reasonable, had people decided to help him instead of stopping him at every turn.

"Ya know, I don't know what pisses me off more," he started. "It falling in the first place or the good rope and wood that went down with it." He clucked at the gap and turned around, hunching back into his coat.

"Let me walk you back where ever you come from, get us out of the cold for a minute. You can tell me your name on the way."

Day 22 - OTA

[tinstar]

The morning had started quiet enough - Too quiet if Raylan was honest, and by the time he got out of bed, Malcolm was gone and Doc was puttering around the coffee. Well, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth and after his own cup of coffee, Raylan bundled up, grabbed his trusty wheelbarrow and went out into the cold.

Having a fire was nice, but you needed wood to burn to keep it going. Firewood collection was something he was going to have to do more frequently the colder it got and he could tell that something shitty was coming.

It was only later, when he returned to drop off his wooden bounty, that Malcolm still wasn't home, and with the rash of disappearances, Raylan couldn't help but be concerned that Malcolm had vanished too. After tracking down Doc to ask him if he'd seen the New Yorker, and getting a 'No' in response, the cowboys split to cover more land. Raylan could be found moving through town, hands cupped around his mouth to help project the call of 'MALCOLM' that the wind tried it's best to steal away.

It didn't matter that it was cold or that he couldn't feel his extremities - if Malcolm was stuck and not vanished, Raylan would be damned if he was going to have to bury the profiler because he didn't look hard enough.

Day 23 - Knock knock, Country Avon calling

[tinstar]

With so much snow having come in, Raylan is glad he got the firewood the day before, but after the morning they'd had, he knew that there was no way he was staying indoors all day. No way he was staying under the too astute eyes of his house for the whole day without slipping out for some time to himself. The conversation he'd overheard this morning chewed on the back of his brain, pointing jeeringly mocking fingers at his inability to skirt past it all unaffected.

For all his authority, swagger and nonchalance, Raylan was still human and enjoyed company and relationships. He'd been fairly casual about them in his life, with the exception of Winona, and age had only made him want that kind of stability more. But apparently, it wasn't meant for him, no matter how hard he tried.

No, he needed something to keep busy and checking on the neighbours was going to be just the ticket. So Raylan started with Dean and a few bottles of moonshine in his pocket as the excuse to get out the door with the promise that he might have to come back to share firewood if he found anyone was out.

He'd head to John's next, over in 1387 before slogging home in the heavily falling snow, hat blending into the snow well enough from a distance that he must look headless.

[hellblaze]

Well, John was the opposite of stability.

He looked up from the stove at the sound of the knocking. John leaned around the corner, cigarette in his mouth. It was his morning tradition after all. Although he missed whiskey something fierce. He rolled the cigarette to the side of his mouth in order to talk.

"Doors open!"

He wasn't going to get away from the middle of breakfast. Whoever was at the door could strut in.

[tinstar]

An almost cheery call - that was strange. Raylan let himself in with a careful glance around, gently shutting the door behind him and following the sounds of movement into the kitchen. There was John, the image of English trailer trash, smoking over.. cooking?

Raylan tilted his head as he stepped fully into the room. "You got any adult supervision for that tool? You know how to cook?"

[hellblaze]

Add the fact that green shirt he put on a few days ago is still there. Open. Black tie hanging around the collar undone. Obviously, Raylan had walked right into the early morning breakfast routine. Lucky him!

"Of course I know how to cook a goddamn basic breakfast." John rolled his eyes, giving Raylan a look over his shoulder.

At least he wasn't surprised to see his best mate in the morning.

"Doesn't mean it'll taste any good."

[tinstar]

Raylan peered into the pan as he passed by, heading straight for the fridge to open it up. "Well, it ain't all carbon yet, so you're doin' somethin' right. You sound chipper this mornin', swearing aside."

He looked over at his friend sidelong, hazel eyes questioning without questioning.

"I figured you subsided on rage and cigarettes, if I'm honest - you mind if I steal some of this juice?"

[hellblaze]

"Fuck off." John replied back easily.

Everyone was a bloody critic. Chas, now Raylan. If they could do it better then maybe they should cart their arses over and make food for him every morning. He ignored that questioning look and kept his eyes on breakfast.

"Oh, I do. Problem is, my corporeal form demands more substance than that every now and then. So, here I am." He raised the spatula in his hand and motioned towards the fridge. "Help yourself."

Though, he raised an eyebrow. "What brings you to the humble abode this early in the bloody morning? There's a snowstorm outside, you knob-head."

[cholesterol]

Dean's got moonshine in his mug, but he will always accept more. He's worked through most of the initial stash. The bottle Raylan first offered him and the bottle Henry brought by have both been utilized. Dean's bender took care of their hospitality. But at least he hasn't dipped into his prison hooch.

That, he hasn't touched.

As Dean opens the door, Raylan might recognize the sound of Pearl Jam's Yellow Ledbetter from the living room, he might also smell bacon frying up. Dean's "I'm your Lobster" apron greets Raylan, too. In Dean's other hand, boozy coffee.

"Ray," he says with a lazy, lopsided smile. He may have started for the day, Raylan. "Come on in."

[tinstar]

Dean's house was a lot more lively than his was, with the music, and the scent of cooking bacon was a welcoming, comforting one. Raylan took in the smile with a gently suspicious look and nodded a little as he stepped inside, glancing around out of habit before he landed back on Dean.

"Thanks. Thought I'd come by, make sure you were set up for what's comin'.." The snow was gonna be a lot and Raylan wasn't totally convinced that some of these roaming and city folks didn't know how to hunker down. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a bottle of moonshine that he held out as he eyed the kitchen.

"What are you cooking?"

[cholesterol]

Dean has a literal angel re-learning how to be part human, and a wild child, his house is the epitome of lively. Let the bacon smell smooth over any gentle suspicion.

He nods his head once. Please, Raylan.

"Frying up some bacon. Might add in an egg, two." He doesn't know. "Playing it by ear," he adds. "And, ready for the storm. We lived in a bunker before, a fully stocked, decked out bunker. We can shelter in the New England starter squatter."

They're fine. They'll be fine. Dean takes down another empty mug, setting it on the table next to the one that's now empty.

[tinstar]

"Good to know that other people in this forsaken town can handle a pan and an oven. Sometimes I'm worried half of 'em are gonna starve or start tryin' to eat tree bark."

It felt almost normal in here somehow, though perhaps that was because he was walking in on the cooking instead of doing it himself. His house was lively, but only in short bursts at 3 AM that involved screaming and the sounds of terror.

Raylan did not ask before dragging over both the cups and popping his gift of a bottle open to pour them both two fingers. Why yes, he would be joining in morning drinking - he'd need it to withstand the cold outside when he trudged off to John's.

"Just make sure you answer any phone calls and don't throw open any windows if shit gets weird. Otherwise, these phones connect. Suppose I ougtha be usin' them to check up on people, but phone calls just ain't ever the same." Namely because he could pick up more information if he was there in person.

[cholesterol]

"Not make snowballs," he asks, his mouth dropping open. Eh? Eh? "I cooked for Sammy when we were kids," he admits, giving up a little more of himself. There's a reason he can cook and that reason is having to teach himself. After finding the bunker, after hanging his hat somewhere, he was able to better hone his cooking energy and talent. Most of the time when they were on the road, they ate out of diners or fast food establishments.

"I copied numbers down yesterday," he says, taking his mug back, but bringing it to the counter. "Haven't used any." He's used to cell phones. Landlines are something else. And it is one, small town. "Have yours," he says with a wry smile as he turns the bacon over.

Reaching under, he pulls another pan out, moving to the fridge. Grabbing the carton of eggs, he holds it out to Raylan. Yes, no? Does he want any?

[thering]

There is a hot mug of coffee waiting for Raylan on the kitchen counter when he returns. Perhaps one of them had seen the headless marshal in the distance or Raylan simply had good timing. Doc is in the garage by himself, a casual-looking lean right next to the roller door while he finishes his smoke - Malcolm didn't want him smoking or drinking out on the porch anymore until the storm blows over and Doc had obliged to spare him the worry - masking the way he's watching over their cluster of lanterns like a stalwart gargoyle of a protector. There are more now that they have visitors. And like their visitors, the lanterns need to stay protected too.

It is considerably colder in the garage than inside the house, but it would be a welcome respite from the snowstorm blowing on outside. Doc is not purposefully avoiding company right now, but it is good for Malcolm to be making friends and learning how to navigate social spaces with a few harmless faux pas he is wont to make without overprotective Black Hat looming over him.

There might be just the one lone wolf, but there are two chairs behind him. Perhaps he has already had company. Otherwise, he seems to be expecting some.

[tinstar]

Whoever or whatever the reason, Raylan and his cold-red fingers were glad to see it unguarded and seemingly unclaimed. Wrapping his digits around the cup for a sip, Raylan breathed out into it to kick some warmth up into his face before glancing around the house. It was quieter than normal, but there was no telling how long that would last. He'd caught the scent of Doc's smoke on the way in and could guess where the man had posted up at.

He opened the door to the garage with a lift of his chin before he closed it behind him and ambled up to Doc's side.

"You out here to enjoy the cold or the quiet?" His lips curled fondly with the ask - he didn't blame Malcolm but he knew where it could be.. a lot, with the questions and prods the smaller man gave. Insight was a dangerous thing.

[thering]

Doc lifts his head and turns at the noise, more out of instinct like a man who is always expecting trouble than he is genuinely wary of Raylan. His stance relaxes again and the smallest of smiles tugs at the corner of his lips.

"A little bit of both. Mister Bright did not want me leaving the house." Not that Raglan had been harking on about him being a fire hazard. Or drunk hazard or potentially contagious from the museum hazard or... any kind of hazard really.

Doc had not spoken to Malcolm at great lengths since their last night/early morning together. Given a choice he would much rather say little to nothing at all than overshare, so he had had a feeling he had said a little too much. But Malcolm seemed to be in better spirits after fretting over what the marshal might or might not have overheard so, that is all that matters.

"What do you make of these lanterns?" he asks as he gestures with his hand over the spread of souvenirs.

[tinstar]

"Please don't tell me you call me Mister Givens when I'm not around," he half teased as he breathed half a breath into his cup before taking a sip and considering the lanterns.

"I dunno. Walked after them with John while they were out roaming around but. I think we'd be better served to follow the instructions given. Might be a bit like the plagues of Egypt. Our proverbial lambs blood above our door. So I can understand why Malcolm didn't want ya goin' out."

No, he wasn't ready to jump in with both feet into the conversation that he felt was lingering just on the sidelines. He couldn't unknow what he'd learned or ignore that it was like those facts that allowed him to get out the door with only a handful of sincere reassurances that he wouldn't go far and he'd be back.

"But both Dean and John are holdin' in there - They'll survive whatever snowfall comes from all this." He eyed the lanterns again. "What do you make of the lanterns? Anythin' different?" He wanted the contrast, the jumble of ideas thrown at a wall til something stuck.

[thering]

"Just Raylan. Occasionally 'the marshal'." Doc snickers at the thought of 'Mister Givens'. He had dispensed with formalities with Raylan the night Raylan invited him over to take some shelter from the elements. He would rather save 'Mister Givens' for Arlo, despicable man that he is, but he would rather not meet that man at all if he had any choice in the matter.

He would like to think that they are close enough to be on a permanent first name basis. Which is not to say that he doesn't feel close to Malcolm, but. The necessity of sometimes having to play the caretaker role complicates their friendship. And Malcolm would probably be used to that kind of distancing, coming from a big city. There might be people who call him 'Mister Bright' on a daily basis. It doesn't work that way for people used to the small town life. You don't meet too many strangers all the time.

"Unless you call me 'Mister Holliday'?" he inquires with a twinkle in his eye and a smile. Which nobody does, by the way. Not here or back home or back then. Finishing his cigarette, he flicks the butt to the floor and stomps it out, swivelling his foot over it just to be sure he won't burn the house down out of sheer negligence and carelessness.

"Malcolm is worried about you. About us." That is all Doc is going to say about their conversation that night. Whether or not Raylan had been up or asleep or heard anything or nothing - Doc would be a hypocrite if he said you should not have secrets with the people you are sharing the same roof with, but he would think the awkwardness would come either way, secrets or otherwise. He had assured it is up to Malcolm to talk to Raylan - it is none of his business really - so he won't say much more than that unless Raylan wants to pick the topic up.

"They appear to be simply lanterns." The only thing magic about Doc is his immortality, linked to his ring. He can't tell if they give off bad mojo or are powered by some magical force or anything like that. "Given we survived following the instructions on the phone about the fog, it seems wise to follow the instructions on the paper. It is not an arduous task either way, keeping them lit. Maybe those... wispy creatures will return for them. Or maybe us looking after them will turn us into them.

"Do you think it foolish, Mister Givens," now he's just doing it to make fun of Raylan. "To assume they do not harbour any ill will towards us until we know more about them? Them or the mysterious figure on the other side of the fissure?"